


Tall, Dark, and a Prick.

by PaperGhostie, SkeletonMadness (orphan_account)



Category: Mafiafell - Fandom, Mobfell - Fandom, Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: A really, And violence, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Gen, I'll add more tags later, M/M, Papyrus is a dick, Reader Is Not Chara (Undertale), Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Reader is gender neutral, Sex Trafficking, Violence, because papyrus is a tsundere, but - Freeform, did I mention this was an angst fic, drug mention, get off now if you don't like that, like damn, mafiafell, modern mafiafell, reader doesn't like the world, reader has a determination soul trait, reader has lost all faith in humanity, reader is a baddass, reader is just not gender specific, reader is not non-binary, reader is super cynical, really slow burn, there will not be smut in this fic, there's a lot of gore, very slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:35:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22580341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperGhostie/pseuds/PaperGhostie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/SkeletonMadness
Summary: You live in modern times, your city isn't that great, your life has gone to shit. It's hard to find a job with all the increase of gang violence driving people out of the city. But a few things change once your monster-less universe suddenly gets a kick in the teeth when the skeleton brothers make their debut. You're determined to find out how they got here, and how to stop them.
Relationships: Papyrus (Mafiafell)/Reader, Papyrus (Undertale)/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	Tall, Dark, and a Prick.

**Author's Note:**

> I have never been very successful in writing my own fanfiction but I really hope I don't just completely drop this one. I don't see enough MafiaFell Papyrus/Reader fics out there so I decided to give it a shot!! I had a lot of help from my sibs, and they wrote the car chase scene and helped me make this an actual comprehensible piece. Though the first chapter doesn't have skeletons, I hope y'all enjoy it.

You wake up to the blaring alarm  _ screaming _ in your face, groaning as you press the old, over used, clumped pillow against your ears to drain out the noise. Though it’s insistent yelling is only muffled, you’re going to have to shut the piece of shit off yourself. An exasperated groan echoes from your lips and you bang your fist to the beeping of the alarm against your  _ very _ invitingly warm bed sheets. Could just stay here all day but you have a big day ahead of you; of job hunting and..  _ other _ hunting.

Your hand slams against the snooze button of the alarm and you bolt up realizing your mistake and that it's only going to go off in the next few minutes. You groan in frustration, trying to turn it off and you end up having to reprogram your alarm, only adding to the irritation this day has already so  _ graciously _ given you. 

Once you’re sure the alarm isn’t going to scream the odd seven minutes later, you sigh, running your fingers through your hair, sitting up in bed and listening to the old poor box springs creak in protest.

A sleepy hand rubs your face and you crack as many joints as you can so you can normally function today. Heard somewhere that it was bad for you or something but you have no idea where or what they were saying it was bad  _ for _ exactly. Sniffling your running nose as you press your bare feet against the icy cold hardwood floors of your bedroom. Might as well be sleeping in a refrigerator, you had to waste your hard earned money on a thick comforter to not simply die of hyperthermia during the night.

Your incompotent landlord **still** hasn’t fixed the _goddamn_ **_heating._** No matter how much all the people in your complex contact him about it, his broken promises are stinging the back of your mind. _“I promise, I’ll get a contractor to fix it next week.”_ It’s been months. **Several** months. 

Not even your disaster of a police force is willing to take the time and  _ make _ him fix it, no matter how much you insist and call them up; they really just don’t care. Sure they have better things to do but it still pisses you off to the highest level. 

Though, you didn’t used to live like this...

You head to the open kitchen after slipping on some loafers to keep your poor toes from getting frostbite after touching the unforgiving floorboards, as you start up the cheap coffee maker to get your energy juice for the day. 

Mind starting to drift to what exactly brought you here... 

That piece of shit,  _ Senator Paul Dickerson.  _ **He’s** the one who has  _ ruined _ your life. 

You  **were** a reporter for a niche organization, founded  _ specifically _ to expose the rotten people of this city and bring your social class the justice and rights they deserve. There had been rumors of how awful this new senator was, but no solid evidence.  **_You_ ** were the one determined enough to go searching for that evidence. Knowing full well how much of a grasp Senator  _ Dick _ had on this city.

The black liquid drains from the filter into your coffee pot, filling your stark apartment with a homey ambience and the comforting scent of freshly brewed coffee. 

On autopilot, you grab a mug from the sink, washing it out since you haven’t bothered to do the dishes in a couple of weeks. You’ll get too annoyed by it eventually, but right now you can survive off this.

The action invokes a memory in your mind, sitting in the break room of your office, idly standing by the cheap but functional coffee maker with your own personal mug. Several months earlier, before everything had just... fallen out of place for you. The cheery ghost of a voice rings in your memory.

~~~

“Hey, don’t take  _ all _ the coffee.” 

You turned your attention to your coworker, his long messy blond hair tied up in a bun that looked too painful to take out of the poor hair tie that had been buried from months ago. He still wore that ratty band t-shirt that you’re sure he only wears to support some unknown garage band that no one’s ever heard about, who the fuck is ‘Pink Floyd?’ Paint stains on his pants that you’re sure have been there ever since you first met him, and leads you to wonder if he even does laundry. 

“ _ Me?”  _ You accuse dramatically, putting a hand on your chest. “ _ You’re _ the one who always steals my mug. I’m lucky I got here in time.” 

Josh chuckles, scratching his patchy beard that will never grow more than a few stubble despite him being twenty-nine. You were fond of him, he was the one always keeping people in high spirits, sort of the mascot of your ‘team.’ A really down to earth guy, though you really didn’t know much about him. 

“You got me, oh what _ ever _ shall I do? I can’t live a life in prison,  _ I’m too young!  _ _ Too beautiful _ _!!”  _

He earns a chuckle out of you as you pour the coffee into your mug, grabbing a carton of your favorite creamer from the minifridge and drowning the bitter substance in it so you can bare to stand the taste. That’s one of the differences from how you are now... but compared to everything else, you don’t even see the significance of it. 

“Hey so I got a new supplier for my  _ hherbs _ .” He emphasizes the h, knowing how much you despise him calling it that.

“For fucks sake, Josh; call it fuckin’  _ weed. _ ” 

He giggles, glad to have gotten that eyeroll out of you. “Anyways, the guy’s super chill, but I managed to trail him a little bit, and guess who I found~” His voice is a little sing-songy as he pulls out his phone and shows you the pictures.

You nearly choke on your coffee. 

“Oh my god.”

It's the  **_senator_ ** . There he is, talking to Josh’s supposed dealer, the dealer handing the senator all the cash that Josh had used to purchase his kush. It’s certainly not enough evidence, and since maijuana isn’t technically legal in your city you can’t use Josh as a reliable source. Though you know he’s very safe and takes it all quite seriously. 

“I know right? I’m actually surprised he did that just out in public. His disguise is  _ awful. _ ” You’ll have to admit, a light grey hoodie, sweatpants, and sunglasses is the worst possible way to hide his identity. You can tell that’s Mr. Dick from a  _ mile _ away. 

“So, do you have a plan?” You know he doesn’t, but you’re just biding time to take another sip of your coffee.

“I thought  _ you _ would have a plan, have you  **seen** my dumbassery?” He tried to put a lit firework up his ass once. That was a very eventful work party, probably the drunkest you’ve ever been but you managed to remember that little tidbit.

“Oh I’ve seen it.” That was probably the day you had grown the closest to Josh... But if only you had known to not get attached to him. To not get attached to anyone. Maybe you wouldn’t be as hurt now...

“So I’m guessing you don’t have a plan then.” He smirks, and you playfully punch him in the shoulder. 

“I’m not  _ that _ smart, give me a bit to actually get some more research done then  _ maybe _ I’ll let you in on my plan.”

“Oh how villainous~”

“Shut up!! If anyone’s a villain it’s that senator guy.”

“Well get him, cheese stick, don’t you worry.”

You’re reminded of that incident where you had fallen asleep researching on a new report and had a cheese stick stuck in your mouth. Josh was the one to find you and the nickname has stuck ever since. “Oh shut up-- That was  _ one _ time.” 

You both laugh for a while, passing back quips and jokes and generally enjoying each other’s company. Josh is a really nice guy; a little messy, weird, and pretty gross, but he’s got a good heart. You can clearly see that when you talk to him. He always wants the best for people despite not taking care of himself much. Always putting himself last, and unfortunately.. that would be his downfall. 

~~~ 

You’re slowly brought back to the present as the banging from downstairs rings through your ears. Drunken neighbors screaming at eachother, upset couples slamming doors. Yep, what a  **_lovely_ ** Tuesday.

You pour the black coffee into your chipped mug, taking a long drink as you let the bitter taste fill your mouth. It tastes awful, but you can’t afford to splurge on creamer. You can barely afford coffee grounds, but you wouldn’t be able to even get up in the morning if you didn’t have the promise of a hot cup of coffee to bring you out of your haze.

The caffeine infects your bloodstream, releasing the extra weight from your limbs as you roll your shoulders back, walking around the small apartment to the cobweb and dew covered window. Morning fog coating the city that you can barely see the building just across the street. Angry honking from frustrated drivers on their way to work fills the air and rings through your thin walls. The world seems so filled with hate nowadays. Though it was always like this, you just never bothered to acknowledge how much humans are just  _ pieces of  _ **_shit_ ** to each other. How much they don’t  _ deserve _ your help.

Your feet creak the floorboards underneath and you hear a familiar yell from the apartment just below you. 

_ “Shut the fuck up!!! I’m trying to sleep, bitch!!”  _

They bang against the ceiling, not making it any better obviously. You can’t help but  _ walk. _ So it’s not like you’re supposed to feel guilty about it. Who are you to constantly walk on eggshells just because your neighbor doesn’t like that you’re interrupting his beauty sleep. 

You chug the rest of the dark and bitter coffee and start walking around your apartment mostly to spite the guy below you. Nibbling on your chapped lips as you’re reminded that you should probably spare fifty cents so you don’t look like a complete hobo and actually take care of your body for once. But who has time for shit like that? You only have about fifteen minutes to spare before you have to head into work.

You grab your leather jacket off the floor, slipping your limbs through the arm holes and zipping it up. You were lucky to be able to keep your motorcycle and not have to give it up for some awful public transit shit. You are  _ not _ about to share a bus with some smelly strangers and their screaming children. Despite how much you need the extra cash, you can’t get rid of your baby.

After tugging on your leather boots, and adding to your intimidation factor, you quickly head outside with your backpack, and lock the door behind you. Jogging down the cement stairs and nearly tripping over yourself a few times. You’re really cutting it close this time.

You’ve managed to snag a job here and there, but with this collapsing economy you’re lucky to keep  _ anything _ for even a couple of weeks. 

No one is sure what caused the rise, but the increase of gang violence is really scaring people out of the city. It’s become the largest capital of crimes in your entire country. You hate that, but ever since you got fired from your position as a reporter, life’s gone to shit. And you can’t even leave.

You remember the day like it was yesterday, you had managed to snag a lead and figured out that there was some sort of ‘shipment’ going out, under one of the senator’s aliases. A horrible alias, ‘Peter Richardson.’ You were never ceased to be amazed at how stupid yet how cunning this guy was. 

~~~

It was a cold day in December, just after Christmas and nearing the new year. You arrived at the docks in Josh’s little indigo slug-bug as you dodged around, keeping your little tape recorders on you and your phones out on the camera, recording video with every way possible. There were guards with  _ actual  _ guns and weapons, stationed all around, you were  **_terrified_ ** , to say the least. If you got caught, you very well could be killed.

The cold stung your nose, your shoes nearly drenched in the deep puddles of water surrounding the docks. The scent of salt and lulling sound of waves would have calmed you under different circumstances. But tonight, the unsettling fog creeping up on the pitch black waters, only sends chills up your spine.

This was a lot more dangerous than you had anticipated. Maybe the senator isn’t so dumb after all. 

Josh was the one to grab you just out of the way of some guards, he seemed all too accustomed to this. Like he had practice telling if someone was just around the corner. You realized then how much you didn’t know about your coworker. He’s a completely different person....

Gone is his cheery expression, comforting voice, and lighthearted attitude... No quiet reassurances reach your ears like you would have expected.. Both of you holding your breath as the marching of patrolling guards pass by your hiding place.

Josh makes a break for it before you can even comprehend what he’s doing, grabbing tightly onto your wrist as he hides behind an armoured truck. Thankfully abandoned for now...

He motions for your phone and you quickly pull it up, your frozen fingers quiverly as you numbly attempt to press record on the video, peaking over the truck... as the dawning horror encroached on your expression.

There were girls, with their wrists in cuffs, drawstring  _ bags _ over their heads, and obvious bruising covering their bodies along with  **_cuts_ ** along their backs that wrenched your stomach into tight knots. Barely any clothing covering their shivering bodies as men forced them to step up and into the box back of a white, unmarked semi truck.

This was a lot worse than you could ever have imagined. You’ve heard stories, you’ve seen pictures, but it’s all a lot more surreal to you in person.

Senator Dickerson, isn’t just indulging in illegal drug trade... he’s the man behind a _sex trafficking_ _organization._ Your stomach twists in fear and disgust. How you want to run up there and save those girls but you can’t do a _thing._ A small whimper escapes your throat, thankful for the reassuring hand rubbing your back. You can tell that Josh hates this as much as you do.

You managed to bring your phone up and snag a few pictures but it was all for nothing. 

The comforting hand resting on your back is frighteningly pulled away as you hear the yell of frustration and fighting behind you and the sound of someone’s nose breaking under a punch before you turned to see Josh fending off a guard, thankfully unarmed, but the black masked man was slowly over powering Josh.

He’s  _ tall.  _ Big and bulky with a black ski mask covering his face, you can’t move. Your body is paralyzed in fear as your body starts shaking from anxiety.

You screamed when arms grabbed you from behind.

They yank your phone from your grasp as throwing it onto the pavement and stomping on the electronic, ruining it beyond repair. There goes your evidence. 

Your frantic squirming and kicking them freed you from your captor’s grip as you watched Josh get pushed to the ground. More guards coming your way. You stumble and get in the clear as more men run towards you, trying to grab you. Josh nearly on the ground.

**_“Run!!”_ **

He tossed the keys to his buggy at you and you barely caught them, turning tail and running, your body fueled by adrenaline and fear. Your brain could barely comprehend the situation as your chest clenched in fear. The cold wind spraying off the ocean and into your face.

**B A N G !**

You skidded to a halt and turned to see a guard with a smoking pistol pointed at Josh’s head, his body is completely still. Your stomach churning and you lurch, emptying your stomach contents onto the ground. Barely wiping your mouth as you ran again, the guards following you close behind. Whimpering as tears stream down your face. 

Your shoes slip in the gravel and your heart leaps into your throat as shots are fired at you, scrambling into the near empty parking lot, you throw open the door to his car.

Slamming the keys into the ignition of your now  _ dead _ coworker’s vehicle, trying to sit back and take a moment to even  _ process _ what had happened before you scream as shots hit the door of the car. 

The chase is on, but thank god you were obsessed with learning to drift as you were a teenager. The slick boardwalk of the docks made it a little more uneasy as your turns lasted a little longer than you were expecting. Between a monumental stack of cargo containers, you manage to get yourself into a skidding stop and turn off your lights. 

Their continued chase roar pass you in a stream of three sets of headlights, the wet hiss of their tires on wet concrete, and sleek black metal bodies of muscle cars. You shake and look around, confirming to make sure no one was tailing after them. You were surprised and somewhat proud of yourself for managing to lose them but you  _ cannot _ rid the image of his lifeless body from your mind.  _ It’s all your fault. _

Your mind repeats over and over again as you break down in the parking spot. You lost your phone and all evidence.. your stomach twisting in guilt and fear. You lean over and grip the opposite handlebar as you heave against your will. Josh was gone in front of you so quickly. They got rid of your evidence. Even worse, they would make sure you’d never come back to get more. They’re going to come after you, weren’t they? You won’t last the night…

Though, the next morning you went into your job, and were immediately called to your manager’s office as he explained to you that he was going to have to let you go. There were copious amounts of illegal drugs found at your desk, that had been previously confiscated from another report. 

You knew who did this.

Your life had all gone to shit from here, you couldn’t pay for your apartment and your previous workplace had been torn down completely. You knew you were framed, but now... the place only exists in frozen blogs online. 

……

You still feel guilty for it, for losing your job, your coworker, and that you’re the reason your once beloved and reliable company had gotten such backlash from false accusations.. 

It’s all because of you. 

You’ve fallen into an awfully deep depression, and here you are months later, scouring the city for jobs. Being told that they’re going to have to let you go is just a bi-weekly occurrence. You have no say in it, no one does.

That fateful night still stains your memory. Though it was a lot more traumatic at the time, you've blocked it out so much you can barely remember the details. Don't  **_want_ ** to remember the details. 

You arrive at your current workplace, a run down bagel shop as you step in through the back door, grabbing your apron and washing your hands in the sink. Shaking them off as you couldn't care less. This place isn’t the nicest but the owner has a good heart. That’s the kind of people you look for these days. The people who do things out of the goodness of their heart. The person you  _ used _ to be...

Your manager calls your name, ushering you over with his bright face. 

The man has lost all his hair on his head but sports a thick bushy beard. He’s short, just coming up to your shoulder and he’s quite a bit chubby. But the guy just radiates confidence you can tell no part of his appearance bothers him. And to you, you can’t see a thing wrong with him either. 

“It’s been a slow day so far, so I’d appreciate it if you work the cashier. I’ll have the TV on so you don’t get bored.” 

His Brooklyn accent with even the slightest hint of Italian rings through and leads the corners of your mouth to twitch into a smile. But as you have learned, this is going to be the downfall of his humble bagel business. That’s just how things go. It’s only you and him working the shop and eventually, he’s going to have to sell the building to some desperate organization just to keep himself afloat. 

You head over to the register and bring a stool with you, so your legs don’t get tired. Sitting down and resting your arms on the counter as you tune into the television on the opposite side of the room. Should really be fixing your posture. 

The day goes by without more than three customers, and each of them not ordering enough... Not enough to keep this business afloat.

It sets a pit in your stomach, but you can’t do anything about it. You know you won’t have this job by the end of the week. And to be fair, it’s whatever. You don’t even care anymore. 

The day ends like usual, another business falling to its knees and getting shot in the head. You have more job searching to do. Luckily you snagged a few applications for being a dishwasher in some restaurant downtown and a barista in a trendy new coffee shop that you have low hopes for their survival. 

You arrive back at your shitty apartment, attempting to unlock the door and getting your key stuck for about twenty minutes until you finally managed to barge inside. Just another thing your landlord has promised to fix, but hasn’t. 

You stumble across the room, the familiar floorboards creaking under your feet and surprisingly no protest from downstairs follows. Fucker probably finally decided to get some earbuds. 

Your leather jacket slips from your back as you toss it across the room for you to find in the morning, as you kick off your boots. Heading into the cramped bathroom to take a hot steamy shower and just stare at the wall till the water goes cold. Can’t help but zone out, the hot water against your back, the lulling ambiance, the thick steam… One could get lost like that. 

Finally, you end the day with flopping your still damp body onto your bed, curling up like a burrito in your thick comforter as you attempt to fall asleep. The darkness claiming your tired body, but only guiding you to the relentless realm of memories that taunt you every night…

All your mistakes on repeat, like a broken record.

……

**Bang.**

**Author's Note:**

> I really really like this chapter and I hope you enjoyed it too!! I know it's really angsty, but I swear it gets better. 
> 
> Here's my Tumblr!! https://egglord667.tumblr.com/  
> Here's my sib's Tumblr!! https://paperghostie.tumblr.com/


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